


barefoot in the kitchen

by dayevsphil



Series: tumblr prompts [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Depression, Introspection, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Tumblr Prompt, more comfort than hurt tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 03:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20614355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayevsphil/pseuds/dayevsphil
Summary: It's a cold August morning, and Phil is waking up alone again.





	barefoot in the kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> lyric prompt from alenakindaswan on tumblr - [send me prompts](https://dayevsphil.tumblr.com/ask) if you'd like to!!
> 
> also posted on tumblr [here!](https://dayevsphil.tumblr.com/post/187666172903/ive-never-in-my-life-made-prompts-i-dont-know)

It's becoming something of a pattern for Phil to wake up alone. He doesn't drift slow into awareness the way Dan does, all sleep-slow movements and soft yawns; Phil wakes up more or less all at once, his pulse spiking as his anxious brain tries to remember where he is. Maybe if his eyes worked the way they're supposed to, he wouldn't feel so jolted awake every morning. It doesn't help to reach out and feel nothing but smooth, cool sheets beside him.

Phil sighs into his pillow, because Dan isn't here to hear him. He considers going back to sleep, but waking up alone twice in one morning would just make him grumpy. Instead, he feels around for his glasses and shoves them into his face with the kind of carelessness that comes from hating the object.

Maybe he's already grumpy. He definitely needs a coffee before he can quantify his mood for real. He wonders if Dan has made coffee. He wonders how long Dan has been awake. He wonders why Dan can't stay in bed, wake him up, _talk_ to him.

It's cold in the flat, and only the lure of caffeine and Dan keeps Phil from curling back up in his doona and scrolling endlessly on his phone.

He steals one of Dan's shirts, tossed so carelessly on the floor. Phil has never claimed to be neat, but Dan is usually the one picking up after both of them, complaining the whole time. Dan hasn't done much picking up this week. Actually, Dan hasn't done much of anything this week. If Phil weren't so worried about him, it might be frustrating.

Phil shoves a couple of random, mismatched socks on his feet before he decides, good enough, he'll warm up as soon as he's got a hot drink. He pushes his hair out of his eyes and yawns. 

The bedroom feels too empty, even with all their clutter, and Phil is happy to escape to the hall. He slows in front of Dan's bedroom door, but doesn't stop. If Dan wants to pace around for hours instead of cuddling, that's his prerogative. 

Dan isn't in his room, though - when Phil reaches the end of the hallway, he spots a tall figure standing against the counter in the dim light of early morning.

"Hey," Phil says, his voice sounding almost too loud in the atmosphere. Dan's body jerks, but he doesn't say anything.

That's more worrying than the pacing. Phil flicks on the kitchen light and blinks in the sudden brightness. Dan physically flinches away from it, curling in on himself like he's trying to shield his body from something that Phil can't see.

He's shivering. Of course he's shivering, he's just in his pants. The tile under his feet must be freezing.

It also looks like he hasn't slept at all. That isn't unusual, for Dan, but it's been so bad this week. The circles under his eyes are prominent, and the way he looks at Phil is so blank that it makes Phil want to shiver, too. 

Phil loves Dan's eyes. They're warm, they feel like home. But right now, they're so flat. Phil has no idea what Dan is feeling right now, but it can't be good.

"Hey," Phil says, softer. He comes further into the kitchen, reaches for Dan. Dan doesn't flinch away, but he doesn't curl into Phil's touch, either. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Dunno," says Dan. His voice is as flat as his eyes.

"You look like a serial killer just standing here in the dark," Phil jokes. He rests both palms on Dan's chilly upper arms and tries to rub some warmth back into them. "Is this where you've been every morning?"

"No," says Dan.

This is new territory for Phil. His anxiety is overriding everything else, tired brain suddenly full throttle with everything that could be happening.

"Are you," Phil starts, then stops. It's selfish to ask.

Dan doesn't prompt him to continue. He simply keeps looking at Phil, arms hanging at his sides, expression impossible to read. Phil hates that he goes right to the worst case scenario, hates that he suddenly can't breathe past the knot in his throat of worry that this is some kind of - that Dan is thinking about ending this.

He shouldn't think like that, really. They've been together for three years now. Dan would talk to him if there were problems, would say something if Phil had pissed him off. But he can't help _wondering_.

"Is it the new place?" Phil asks instead.

Dan shrugs.

"Is it London in general? Do you not like it here?"

Dan shrugs again.

With a hard swallow, Phil steels himself to hear the worst. "Well, okay. Is it... is it me? Have I done something?"

There's a flicker of something in Dan's empty eyes, and he squeezes Phil's hip. It's probably meant to be reassuring, but it feels more desperate than anything. "No," Dan says, hoarse but so certain that it eases some of Phil's worry. "No, fuck, it's. I don't know how to explain it, Phil. I really don't think you'd get it."

That kind of stings. Phil tries not to let it get to him. 

"Try me," he suggests, sliding a hand up Dan's arm, his shoulder, resting on the side of his neck. Dan shivers again, but if it's from the cold or the touch, Phil doesn't know.

"Okay," Dan says, quiet. He doesn't speak for a long while after that. It takes all of Phil's self control not to interrupt his thoughts, to prompt something from Dan that he might not want to say. Eventually, though, he gathers his thoughts enough to continue. "I think - no, I'm, like, fairly sure. That I'm depressed."

That's not something Phil expected him to say, but it doesn't come as much of a surprise. "Okay," he says, soft. "Is it something specific making you feel this way, Dan? Or is it just, like, generalized?"

"Both," says Dan. His grip on Phil's hips tightens again. "I. People can tell. People _know_."

Phil hasn't had his coffee yet, so it takes his brain a moment to connect what Dan is saying to the conversation at hand. He gives Dan a sympathetic smile when he figures it out.

"People don't know jack shit that you don't tell them," he says gently. 

"They know," Dan repeats, flat. "Everybody knows."

"They don't. But we don't have to do any of this if it's making you feel depressed." Phil gestures around the kitchen, still barely stocked with food and utensils. "We can go back to Manchester if it's what you need."

Dan shakes his head and leans forward, resting his forehead against Phil's shoulder. "I don't want that. I want to stay here. With you."

The confirmation that Dan doesn't want him to go anywhere is good for Phil's anxiety. He presses a kiss to Dan's hair, ignoring the greasiness of it. He wonders how long it's been since Dan washed his hair, or slept through the night, or talked to someone about the things bothering him.

"Then we should make an appointment with a GP," Phil says. "This isn't the kind of thing you need to handle by yourself, and I don't know how qualified I am."

It's a joke, but it also isn't. Phil has no idea how to help Dan right now. He feels absolutely useless.

"Okay," Dan says into Phil's shoulder. "Thanks."

"No need to thank me," says Phil. "Want me to run you a bath? You're so cold."

"Yeah, that," says Dan. He swallows hard, and Phil wonders if Dan has the same lump in his throat that Phil does. "That would be really, really nice, Phil. I love you."

After three years together, Phil doesn't need to hear the words as much as he did when they were young and whispering them over a shoddy wifi connection, but they still make him feel just as warm, down to his toes. That reminds him that Dan is still standing barefoot on the tile, and he pulls back from their weird embrace to give Dan a reassuring sort of smile.

Dan attempts a smile back, even as he shivers. The new flat is chilly, empty, but _theirs_, and Phil might not understand everything happening in Dan's brain right now, but he'll do whatever he can to keep him as warm and safe as Dan makes him feel. 

"I love you," Phil says. He needs to say the words more than he needs to hear them, always so proud of the way they make Dan's shoulders slump forward, relaxed. "C'mon. Let's get you warmed up."


End file.
